by Mj Fields
“That’s disgusting.” My forces a laugh as he stands, grabs my hand, and whispers, “Let’s walk.”
“I don’t need—”
“Fuck you don’t,” he mumbles as he walks out to the exit opposite the direction the parents’ table is.
As soon as we’re out in the lobby, My drops my hand, grabs my shoulders, kisses my head, and nods toward the elevators. “Go. Hide somewhere they’ll find you when they go up so they don’t freak and do your chill down thing.”
“I’m perfectly fucking chill,” I snap.
“Yeah? I wouldn’t be. She’s a cuntasaurus.”
“Just be happy you share DNA, or she’d be trying to slide into yours.”
“Her evening Snaps are bad enough. Girl’s got issues, Tris.”
“She Snaps you? That bitch Snaps you?”
“Word is she Snaps everyone with a dick one pic, and her female friends another.”
He’s not telling me something, hiding something. “And …?”
“Not your problem, not mine either ever since—”
“Spill it.”
“You don’t say shit.”
“Fine. What? No, fuck that. I don’t even care.”
He nods toward the elevator bank. “Go, Tris. Go find your chill.”
Storming toward the corridor that leads to the elevator, knowing the static is looming, I turn back. “Where has Max been all night?”
He rolls his eyes. “Go.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Fine.”
As soon as I turn the corner, I practically run into him—Marc.
I hurry around him, mumbling, “God, could this night get any fucking worse?”
He grabs my arm and spins me to face him. “The fuck do you know about a bad night, Tris?”
I jerk my arm back. “I don’t know … having dinner with everyone like nothing has changed when everything has.”
“You leave Jersey without saying goodbye after we threw everything out on the table. The dust was fucking clear, I understood why you hide from me, pushed me away, and I thought you got I only did that shit in retaliation.”
I step back as he steps forward. “Marc, don’t.”
“Our shit’s unpacked, all sprawled out and messy for everyone to see, Tris. It has been for a long-ass time. You need to come home.”
“That’s not home!” I yell.
“Then let me know where home is and when you’re sick of living out of a fucking suitcase.”
Back against the wall, fists balled at my side, I shake my head. “We’re never getting back together. I thought you understood that.”
He looks me up and down like I’m pathetic. “You’re so fucked up you don’t see it.”
“This conversation is over, but this feeling, it will remain. I tried to do this the right way, but it obviously didn’t work. We’re done. I wish we could be friends, but you look at me like that and it tells me that I’m not the only one fucked up. Now get out of my face.”
Do not break. Do not break. Do not break, I tell myself over and over as things get fuzzy.
He leans in, planting his hands on the wall, caging me in, and whispers, “I fucked them. You think that’s unforgivable? I forgive you already for fucking him, because I know damn well when he’s above you and you’re looking up at him, you see me. When you come, it’s me you’re thinking of. I forgive you, Tris. I forgive you for the songs you sing about me and even for the global fuck you that you give me. The shows ending in paybacks, captured on thousands of screens, posted on every social media platform, just so I have to see it. What will not be unforgivable is that you know you’re fucked up in the head right now and you’re trying to talk yourself into loving him just to hurt me. I hate him, despise him, but I wouldn’t wish this hurt on anyone, so pack your fucking bags and come home.”
When I hear Ranger’s angry voice sneer, “Get the fuck off her,” I finally breathe. When he grabs him and throws him down the hall, I start to shake. When he grabs me and walks me into the elevator and the door closes behind him, Marcello yelling then hearing Sabato’s and Mel’s voices, I close my eyes.
“Breathe, Trouble. He’s not coming after you again.”
I let out a breath and words fall out. “I thought you were gone. Done with me since the tour was over.”
“Your dad—”
“No. If you stay, I pay you, not my dad.”
“Contract was with your dad and the label. Your dad—”
“I want you to work for me, me and Matteo. Just—”
“You really making that move so soon after—”
“I’ve lived in a hell of my own making for two years. I want out, I want happy, I want him. And I don’t want my father or the label paying you.”
“You think I want a seventeen-year-old throwing tantrums and—”
“Write up a contract, Ranger. I need you.”
He turns and looks at me, concern etching his features. “No drugs. No drinking. No—”
“Okay.”
“No, Tris, hear me when I say all those emotions you’re feeling, you need to know if it’s real or the shit you’re putting in your body.”
“Okay.” I hug myself and lean against the elevator wall.
“And you need to go chill before you sneak off to see him. And that shit stops, too. I know where you are at all times.”
“As long as you’re not playing double agent with my parents, fine.”
“You’ll be my boss, but hear this well … I won’t work for someone who’s gonna make my job harder than it has to be.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“He’s gonna pull this shit for a beat or two, Tris. And don’t you think for a second his ego isn’t driving it. Fucking kid’s an asshole.”
“I know.”
“And one more thing, your family is gonna be pissed. I’ve worked for them off and on for years, so this stays between you and I.” He turns as the door opens. “Now, go find your chill and, when you’re ready, I’ll get you to him.”
“Thanks, Ranger,” I say as I walk past him and toward the suite.
Something Extraordinary
Matteo
When her bodyguard came to my door, I feared something had happened to her. That fear was correct. Marcello had confronted her once again.
Now, in her suite, her parents are in her room with her, and I am waiting for permission, perhaps, to do the same attempt to comfort her.
“No. He’s gonna call when he wakes up. He’s going to—”
I can visibly hear the storm clouding her by the tone of her voice.
“I’m here, Tris.”
She comes running out the door, eyes a blurred mess of confusion and anxiety. “You didn’t call or message. I was worried.”
I take her hands and step back to the sofa. “You should have called me.”
“You were resting and—”
“Sit, please.” I turn her so her back is to it.
“She needs to take—”
“That doesn’t help, Dad,” she snaps at her father.
“Tris,” I whisper, “neither does that.” I sit down next to her. “Now, tell me what happened.”
“Just Marc. You know, two years later, thinking I love him and we should be together.”
“That’s shit, Tris. He had you caged in. It’s about fucking time you file a restraining order on him.”
“For what? He hasn’t hurt me,” she snaps at Ranger.
“Not physically, no. But here.” I push her hair back that’s been dampened by tears. “Emotionally. And here”—I point to her heart — “because you offered him friendship and he’s unwilling to take that.”
“One more time, and I’m going to—”
“Dad, his parents are your friends,” Tris again defends him. “His mother is a shrink. She’ll deal with him. Fix him—”
“People can’t be made to do anything unless they truly want to. And those who are ego-driven are—”
“Well, he’s certain
ly that,” she huffs as she continues to shift in her seat, knee bouncing and head no doubt racing.
“You are not responsible for his—”
“She’s aware, Matteo,” Zandor cuts me off. “And she needs to take her meds because —”
“Dad, just stop, okay? Just stop!” She lets go of my hand and fists her hair as she rocks back and forth.
Unsure of how her parents will feel, but also not truly concerned about that yet, I sit back, wrap my arm around her shoulder, and gently pull her head to my chest. “Rest your worries.”
She looks up at me, lip quivering, and whispers, “I don’t mean to be like this.”
“Be like what?” I whisper back, looking into her eyes, hoping to see them brighten a bit.
“A mess.”
“But what a beautiful mess you are.”
She smiles, albeit sadly, and asks, “Does your head hurt?”
“It has been a long day,” I admit.
“Okay, then we rest.”
“Si.”
Her parents don’t leave the room, although they do sit on the sofa opposite us. I see them out of my peripheral vision, but I stay connected with Tris and watch her eyes finally begin to get heavy.
“Rest your eyes.”
She fists my shirt. “Don’t leave, okay?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“You all set for the night? You staying put?” Ranger asks.
“She will be. Thank you, Ranger.” Zandor stands and shakes his hand. “I’d like to discuss something tomorrow with you.”
He lifts his chin. “Sure.”
Once he’s gone, Zandor sits back down.
When she finally allows her eyes to close, I wait a couple minutes before looking at her parents.
“Are the two of you well?”
Zandor scowls at me. Bekah smiles.
“Did I speak it erroneously?”
“You did just fine, Matteo,” Bekah says, leaning back. “We’re well. Better now that she’s calmed down.”
I look down at her. “As am I.”
Zandor leans forward. “If you’d like to go back to your own room, we can take it from here.”
“No.”
“No?” he asks.
I close my eyes, hoping to find the word. “Prometí quedarme. Um … stay.”
When I open them, he is clearly agitated. It could be from more than my mispronunciation, like he doesn’t like the fact that I’m staying.
I carefully move, so as not to disturb Tris, and pull my phone out.
“While you have that out, let me have your number.” He holds his phone up.
I hit the translation app and read, “I mean, no disrespect. I’d prefer not to disappoint her. I promised Tris I would stay.”
“Right.” He tightens his jaw. “Phone number.”
“Zandor,” Bekah scolds him in a whisper.
I rattle off my number, first into the app in my native tongue, and then it translates to him.
“What’s this app you use to communicate and why is it you speak rather fluently sometimes and others you need the app?”
I wait for the app to translate the recording of what he just said and type back my response.
“After so many hours, it becomes increasingly difficult to concentrate. And, at times, it causes headaches. Today has been particularly long. This will get better with time, I’m positive.”
“And how much time do you plan to spend with my daughter?”
Smiling down at the screen, I type my response.
“This is not the appropriate way nor time to ask for her hand, but the answer comes from the heart: the rest of my life. And I promised Tris I would stay. I’d rather not disappoint her.”
“She’s not eighteen.”
That, I don’t have to translate.
“Si, I will wait. But it is my true intention.” I type the rest into the app and it reads it to them. “I hope that I can someday soon gain your trust, and that you will see this is very real. Sometimes painfully so.”
“Well, what—”
“He’s tired, Zander,” Bekah cuts him off, “and he seems to be staying. So let him rest, and you can interrogate him further tomorrow.”
“Mucha apreciación.”
When I wake, my neck is stiff, a warm body is curled around mine, a very dry mouth, and … several eyes are upon me.
I clear my throat. “Buenos días.”
“Buenos días,” Tris’s morning voice is very alluring and, when she looks up at me, eyes bright, undiluted, and rested, my heart swells in a figurative sense.
“Eres una visión. Descanso es desafiante en su mirada favorable, mi corazón.”
When we hear my words repeated from an app, “You are a vision. Restful is definitely in your favorable gaze, my heart,” we both smile while her mother scolds Zandor. “Let them be.”
“Is fine,” I tell them.
“We hitting brunch with everyone before they jet?” her brother, Amias, asks, and we both look at him. “Dickwad’s not coming, Tris, and the twins got in some trouble for their shit last night, so it’s all chill.”
“It wasn’t Cessca; it was—”
“Cessca’s gonna do what twat-nette tells her to,” Bris huffs. “A true twin.”
Tris laughs out. “Twat-nette?”
“Girls,” Bekah scolds.
“Seriously, Mom, they’re awful.”
“I agree, but I really hope they can get it together, you know.”
“Truth was a trip, yeah?” Amias, or My as they call him, laughs, and so do the rest of them.
I watch her smiling at her siblings and her parents as her siblings and Zandor keep the conversation going and Bekah tries yet fails to keep the conversation less risqué.
There is so much love in this room for her, so much I have seen her push away due to guilt and shame about circumstances that took her from a child to a tortured young woman. Right now, at this very moment, I see a beautiful transformation from what I bore witness to just weeks ago.
“Matteo, will you come, or do you have other things to do?”
“You eat. I make preparations for our long overdue first date.”
She squeezes my hand. “You have to eat.”
“I shall.” I kiss the back of her hand then stand.
“And you and I will have a chat before this date,” Zandor says.
I pull my phone, that is at ten percent, out of my pocket and type in for translation and read the words back.
“Of course, as many conversations as you need for assurance that she will be loved by me as she is all of you.”
“That’s so sweet.” Brisa beams.
“Yeah, sure,” Amias mumbles.
After a quick workout at the hotel’s gym, a light breakfast, taking my meds, and a shower, I realize that the order of the day should have been altered as was the prior evening. I should have eaten first, and perhaps substituted yoga in lieu of lifting weights.
Long ago, I rid myself of the need to bulk up to be the biggest man on campus, so to speak. I feel much healthier with lean muscles. My definition hasn’t lessened because I’m not carrying the extra thirty pounds, yet today, I felt driven to be bigger.
It’s preposterous to think I need that weight to protect her, yet I still feel it, and now, I ache.
A knock on the door has me throwing a shirt on, a second one has me not bothering to change from athletic pants into jeans or slacks. It could be Tris. Something could have happened.
When I open the door and see Zandor, my chest tightens. “Tell me she is all right.”
“She’s fine. I’d like to talk.” He holds up the phone. “I have the app.”
I step back, allowing his entrance.
“Tell me how this works best.”
After explaining that I can keep up, and him insisting on doing it the way in which is easiest, and also asking how to turn off the part that reads it out loud so he doesn’t get in trouble with his wife for eavesdropping, which I find
amusing, we begin.
“She’s seventeen years old, she’s been through hell, and she’s healing.”
“I am aware and—”
He holds his hand up to stop me. “It’s very difficult to admit that she is doing better, because none of me wants to believe it’s all because of you. It very easily could be Marley. However, she met you first, so I have to give you some credit.”
“I believe it’s a combination and also she’s been on a rigorous schedule, yes?”
“Which has kept her occupied, distracted, and busy. She was fixated on her music and this tour. Now she’s fixating on you.”
“It’s a very healthy fixation, better than drugs, drinking, or any worry about her being mentally abused. She will be respected and loved. And she’s not alone in it. I, too, never thought I’d find someone who could love me in the way she does. It’s the kind of love that is without explanation or reason. If I may be so bold, I believe it is fate-driven.”
“That’s all the things a father would want to hear if his seventeen-year-old didn’t just throw an epic temper tantrum about coming home for a month to take part in her sister and brother’s graduation celebrations.”
“With all due respect, maybe she knows she can’t mentally handle it, and maybe you should listen to her.”
“I want to like you, Matteo, but that shit right there—”
“Is difficult to accept.”
Anger evident, he stands up. “You’re not listening to me, kid, and I’m listening just fucking fine! This tantrum was sprung on by the fact that some Italian tabloid has a story about a woman who said you broke an engagement with! This tantrum was about how I have to let her stay.”
“The engagement never came to fruition. I fell in love, and she accepts me for who I am.”
“A man who was engaged then fell in love with a beautiful and talented seventeen-year-old?”
The door is opened, and Tris storms in, holding up a key card. “New trick.”
I can’t help but smile, but it falls when she yells at her father, “Don’t draw lines, Dad. You won’t like which side I stand on.”
“I have until November, young lady.”
“Yeah, well, good luck getting me on a plane with no passport. I tossed it in the garbage.” She throws her hands in the air. “Now what?”
